


Secret-Keeper

by blakefancier



Series: Harry/Sirius series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter loves his godfather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret-Keeper

Harry Potter was fifteen and in love with his godfather.

It was a secret, the desire to kiss and touch Sirius. He wasn't sure when it began; the emotion seemed to have sprung up overnight. No one knew, he was an expert at secrets; his whole life had been built upon them. No one knew that when he wasn't dreaming of death, he was dreaming of pale eyes and dark hair, of a mouth possessed by heat and mystery.

The desire made him restless for the mouth and hands of his dreams to possess him, to impart secrets upon his body. It made him toss and turn in his bed, reach into his pajamas and stroke himself, muffling the cries with his pillow.

He knew that Sirius felt the same breathless aching. He could sense it in his godfather's unwavering gaze, in the way he allowed his hand to brush the small of Harry's back, in the lingering of his lips against Harry's forehead.

That was not enough; it was not nearly enough.

Every evening, as he watched Sirius, Harry swore that he would go to him. And every night his Gryffindor courage failed and he lay trembling in his bed, listening to Ron snore. Night after night of disappointment, of illusions built upon lonely hands and lonelier wishes until finally he realized it could not go on. He could not leave for Hogwarts unsolved and unknown.

So when the house was quiet, he moved silent as the shadows, down the hall to his godfather's room. Sirius was in bed, smoking, eyes staring at the wall. Harry closed the door behind him, and slid the bolt shut. Then he sat on the bed, a lump of anticipation in his throat, and watched the smoke from the cigarette drift lazily in the air.

He wanted to whisper Sirius's name, but instead lay beside him and laced their fingers together. His breath quickened and he brought their mated hands to his stomach, sliding them under his t-shirt against his bare skin.

Sirius stabbed the cigarette out on an ashtray and settled beside him.

Harry moved Sirius's hand against his body, up to ghost his nipples then down to rest against the waistband of his pants. And when Sirius's hand moved lower, he untangled their fingers and clenched his shirt.

He did not know this would make his body restless. He did not know he would arch, that his heels would slide and scramble against the blanket, and that he would whine and growl.

Sirius was the brightest star in the sky. And when his Sirius kissed him, his mouth tasted of smoke, butterbeer, and the sour tang of pain.

He gasped at the rush of pleasure that emptied out of him and lay dazed with the knowledge that tomorrow no one would see the secret painted upon his body by Sirius's eyes, mouth, hands. Hands that did not stop, but slipped in and out of his clothing until he felt the restlessness return. Only this time, this time, he was coaxed to straddle Sirius's body. Even fully clothed, the movement of their hips--and hands, Sirius's hands--was frantic: a mysterious knowledge born of dreams.

But the aftermath of dreams was never like this: sodden, warm, and alive with the sound breath and beating hearts. Pressed against Sirius's chest, hands stroking his hair, his back, his thighs, he sighed and closed his eyes. Minutes, or hours, passed and Sirius shook him awake.

A crushing hug and a kiss goodbye later, he was sent back to his room.

The next morning, he chanced a look in the mirror and smiled to see his secrets still carefully hidden.


End file.
